


fjantasies

by shadowfell



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Compulsory Heterosexuality, Fantasizing, Implied Relationships, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:33:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27823795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowfell/pseuds/shadowfell
Summary: Fjord relaxes. Or, tries to anyway.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	fjantasies

**Author's Note:**

> For the kinkmeme prompt - Solo! Fjord - Repressed queer attraction, masturbating, guilt
> 
> Okay, I can't be the only one who sees how Fjord behaves around guys. So. Fjord masturbating to the idea of ~dudes~ and feeling hella guilty about it, specially if he recalls some tension that happened between a guy and him and FEELS A LOT about it, like can't control the need to jack off to it.
> 
> https://criticalkink.dreamwidth.org/3194.html?thread=1306234#cmt1306234

It’s been one hell of a day. It’s been one hell of a week, really, one hell of a year, but as he dries himself off from the hot tub, and makes his way to his room, he has plans to relax.

Spa days aside, he hasn’t had much time to himself, in, well, it has to have been a month, now. It’s been pretty constant travel and fighting, from shit going down at the Overcrow to the fight at the Cathedral, and then all the tension of war negotiations ending up on their heads, and this is the first time he’s been able to get a room to himself in all that time, and, honestly, he feels like he deserves some self care.

Oh, sure, he’s been dealing with morning wood, but that was quick. Efficient. Nice, but not exactly, well, relaxing. This is going to be long, and slow, and hopefully enough to last him for the weeks of travel and visiting more weird temples and families named Stone and diplomatic meetings and Traveller-con.

So, he locks the door, tugs the curtains tighter closed, and lays down on his bed, running a hand across the muscles on his chest.

“You’re looking good,” Darrow says, voice somewhere between earnest and pitying. He feels the phantom of a heavy arm around his shoulder, hands running admiringly down his chest, a warm, easy smile.

No. Nope. That’s not where this is going, not at all. His hand drops still, arm laying heavy across his chest, and he bites his lip and tries to focus. Clearly his brain doesn’t want to focus on just the physical, so he’ll have to give it something.

“Ooh, Fjord, you have such big muscles,” a generic girl is saying, and his hand picks up, running along them, still not quite familiar territory but incredibly appealing. “You’re such a big, strong, handsome hero.”

“Oh, come on, this is ridiculous,” Nott says, in his head, and definitely not, she isn’t getting anywhere near this.

“You saved me,” generic girl continues. “However can I repay you?” His hand rests over his smalls, gentle pressure, a light squeeze, his other hand running against his pecs.

She kneels down, presses her face against his smalls, warm breath, pressure, a hand pulling him out as he takes himself in hand. Finger light touches, slow, gentle.

Blue eyes staring up at him, from behind red hair. “I owe you my life, ja?” Caleb says, taking him into his mouth.

He shouldn’t be thinking of this. Shouldn’t be thinking of Caleb, sitting there with heartfelt words and bright blue eyes and a sword to his neck. Caleb, on his knees, Fjord’s hands curled into his hair and tugging him forward, keeping him tight. He shouldn’t be thinking about his. He shouldn’t be thinking about this.

“Think about me instead,” Darrow says, lightly, as he’s pressed into - the ground? Now, a bed, something soft. A hand around him, gentle but insistent, another pinning him down and playing with his nipples. “My treat. You deserve it.”

He didn’t earn anything, in that fight, he doesn’t need pity. He needs Darrow, flipped over, slammed into the sand, the bed, the wall. Hand wrapped into his hair, pulling back his neck and biting in, both of them in hand -

No, he’s supposed to be thinking about, about girls.

Avantika is grinning that wide, sharp grin. His hand tightens, instinctively, but it doesn’t stop moving. He’s still, a hand around his neck, his hand in chains.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Avantika asks, bathed in shadows.

Anything, anything but this -

“Flying fuck?” Essek repeats, dragging him closer by a collar around his neck, so close he can feel the breath. There’s a sharp grin, and a hand gripping him tightly even though he can see both of Essek’s.

“I could break you in half, Runt,” Wurst tells him, and he’s being spread out over a counter, over an anvil, legs stretched so wide it almost burns.

“Don’t make a sound.” There’s a hand pressed tight against his mouth, another drawing his dick out, fondling him. “You’re such a slut, Fjord,” Sabien whispers. “Always so eager. Are you wet for me?” A finger against the slit of his dick, rubbing down sharply, gathering all the precome in it before pressing into him from behind.

“You don’t want the others to hear you,” Sabien mutters. “They’d want you, who wouldn’t, such an eager slut, I can feel that you’re dying for it, even just a thought. But I’m not going to share you.”

Sabien picking him up, holding him against the wall and sliding in to him, mouth locked on his, biting his lips aggressively. Slamming into him again and again, not letting him drop.

“You’re mine, Fjord,” Sabien is whispering into his ear, “and you know it.”

He comes, splattering against his hand, and his bare chest. He opens his eyes, and stares up at the ceiling, and he lays there, for a good long while, trying not to think. 


End file.
